


Welcome to Holding Hands

by simeysgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, HP: EWE, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simeysgirl/pseuds/simeysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Author/Artist LJ Name: <a href="http://kjp-013.livejournal.com/">kjp_013</a><br/>Prompter: susan5124<br/>Prompt Number: #97<br/>Title: Welcome to Holding Hands<br/>Pairing(s): Harry/Draco<br/>Summary: Harry and Draco, Auror partners extraordinaire, work perfectly together in the field. It's every other minute of the day that they have arguments. Having had enough, Kingsley, gives them a choice: sort out their problems or they're off the force. Deciding that they'd really rather keep their jobs, they go to counselling, but the therapy isn't quite what they expected.<br/>Rating: PG-13<br/>Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.<br/>Warning(s): None.<br/>Epilogue compliant? Haha, no.<br/>Word Count: ~19,500<br/>Author's Notes: Wow. This fic had a life of its own. When I saw the prompt, I had to have it; I just didn't expect it to be so long... All my love and hugs go to G, who, as always, has been the best beta, cheerleader and friend a girl could ask for. To the prompter, I hope you enjoy this; I really loved writing it. Thank you for the prompt! ♥</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Holding Hands

Draco could only focus on Kingsley's eyes. He knew that words were being shouted at him, but he didn't need to listen to them. He'd heard them all before. These meetings always followed the same pattern:

 

*  Kingsley would call them both into his office. Invariably because Potter had started an argument over an inane matter.

*  Potter would plead to be assigned to a new partner. This, Draco silently agreed with. But it would be a warm day in Scotland before he'd speak up in support of anything Potter had said.

*  Kingsley would say—shout—something, usually including the words: 'Supposed to be adults', 'Partners', 'Support structure', and—Draco's favourite—'If you didn't work so damn well together...'

*  Draco would smile, nod, and, with his fingers crossed under his robe sleeves, promise not to 'antagonise, patronise, or in any way wind Potter up.'

*  Potter would huff and promise to not hex his partner. Draco was certain Potter also crossed his fingers.

*  Finally, Kingsley's eyes would drop in resignation and with a muttered, 'Get out of my sight,' Draco and Potter would be free.

*  Rinse and repeat, at least three times a week.

 

But Kingsley's eyes weren't dropping and his mouth was still moving. Draco would usually be having a nice cup of tea by now, bemoaning his lack of a decent partner with Cheryl at the front desk, but Kingsley was still wittering on. Stranger still, Potter had started talking as well—a rare occurrence after his initial pleas for a change would be dismissed. It wasn't his usual ranting, either; it was his panicked trying-to-talk-himself-out-of-something spiel.

 

Quickly tuning fully back into the conversation, Draco tried to catch up on what he'd missed. Damn his over-active imagination.

 

“But, Kings, come on! We really don't need that. Do we Malfoy?”

 

“Don't 'Kings' me, Harry. You're still calling each other by your surnames, for Merlin's sake. I don't care how many crimes you solve together, you're doing this or you're off the force. Both of you. You _need_ this.”

 

“Need what?” Draco blurted out without thinking. He hated showing himself up. Especially in front of his boss and Potter.

 

In answer, Potter looked at him like he'd sprouted an extra head—Draco knew the exact look; stupid criminals and their stupid superfluous head spells—and Kingsley simply thrust a pamphlet into his hand. Draco didn't want to look. He rather doubted he'd like what was printed on the shiny parchment.

 

Eventually, and entirely too late, Kingsley's eyes dropped to his desk as he shook his head.

 

“Get out of my sight. Both of you.”

 

~

 

Draco walked back to his desk in silence, unable to take his eyes off the leaflet in his hands. He slumped into his chair and threw the offending article across his desk in disgust. _Holding Hands Therapy_. Who the fuck thought that that was a good name? It sounded like an article in _Teen Witch_ : 'Why holding hands will keep your relationship fresh' or such crap. Draco couldn't help but groan when he noticed those exact words printed on the pamphlet.

 

A small 'humph' sound caused Draco to look up, straight into Potter's grumpy face. Why the hell did their desks have to be directly opposite one another? As if they didn't see enough of each other in the field. Curse their 'compatible magic' and all the hoo-ha that went with it.

 

Yes, they could take down an entire crowd of suspects in the time it took most of their colleagues to make a cup of tea. It didn't mean that they needed to see each other's faces every single bloody waking moment.

 

Thinking about it, Draco realised that all of their problems were Kingsley's fault. If he and Potter were just left alone, they'd solve crimes quick as a flash and fight criminals happily side-by-side and then not see each other until the next call came in. It sounded like perfection.

 

After all, the problems only occurred in the office. Draco smiled as he thought about exactly what to say the next time they were called in for a 'meeting.'

 

“What the fuck are you smiling about, Malfoy? I know; bet you can't wait for the stupid course. A nice free holiday. What? The villa not free this weekend?”

 

Draco's smile didn't falter. A hundred (and three; he had them catalogued) insults ran through his mind, but he'd promised to behave. And, besides, it had been a while since he'd tried to get along with the git.

 

“Firstly, the villa is just fine; thanks for enquiring. I just thought that if we could just get along, Kingsley couldn't force this shit on us.”

 

“Yeah, right. Want to be my friend, Malfoy?” Potter held his hand out, but Draco knew better than to take it. Especially as Potter's voice had a rather sarcastic tone to it.

 

Draco calmed himself and tried to articulate exactly what he wanted to say.

 

“Why not?” It wasn't the first time that Draco had attempted to be not-enemies with Potter, but it was the first time he'd pursued it. Usually, he'd have sneered and turned away by now.

 

“We work well together. We spend most of the week side-by-side. We trust each other.”

 

Potter laughed humourlessly. “I trust you with my life, Malfoy. It's not the same as trusting _you_.”

 

Well, Draco certainly didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't even completely sure that it made sense. Right on time, the bell chimed for shift change, and Potter disappeared without a second glance.

 

~

 

Draco looked around his bedroom and frowned at the clothes strewn across every surface. He couldn't decide on what to take. Under normal circumstances, Draco would simply take everything with him for a trip away, no matter how short. Who knew when one would need a certain shirt or pair of shoes. It was far easier to just shrink his entire wardrobe and take it along.

 

A closer look at the dreaded pamphlet had put paid to his usual plan. Draco hadn't thought that the weekend could have any more bad points until he'd spotted the three little words in a jaunty script at the bottom of the description.

 

_No wands permitted._

What the fuck was he supposed to do without a wand? Who in their right mind expected a wizard, and a highly trained Auror at that, to just hand over their bloody wand? How was he supposed to defend himself? How was he supposed to perform spells? How the fuck was he supposed to unshrink his bloody clothes? No, there was nothing jaunty about those words, and Draco wanted to rip them to shreds. He knew that it wouldn't help, so instead he settled for—using his wand; Draco did love irony—changing the happy little scrawl to big block lettering.

It strangely made him feel better.

Draco threw the shirt in his hands onto the already towering pile on the bed. Giving up, he called for his favourite elf and handed him the leaflet. Grenville would know exactly what he'd need for a weekend in hell.

With his clothes left in the very capable hands of Grenville—who was probably at that very moment checking the weather to determine exactly what he'd need to pack—Draco settled into his comfy chair with a well-deserved glass of Ogden's.

The one thing that had been at the back of his mind since the meeting with Kingsley reappeared as soon as he was comfortable.

Was it even worth it?

Draco had had a fleeting thought that no, it wasn't, and that Kingsley could shove the job up his arse, but that hadn't lasted long.

Of course it was bloody worth it. He'd tried his hardest to get where he was, taking actual blood and tears to get there, and it would take more than a weekend with Potter to get him to leave.

If it wasn't for Potter, there wouldn't be any problems. Well, apart from that whole Voldemort business; Draco would give him that one.

Draco had gone back to Hogwarts in order to get what qualifications he needed to enlist, the same as Potter. He'd survived the gruelling boot camp, the same as Potter (even after being told, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn't welcome). Draco had taken, the same as Potter, every test the Ministry had thrown at him. Unlike Potter, Draco had also taken some 'extra' tests levelled just at him. And, unlike Potter, he'd passed every single one with flying colours.

When Draco called and cancelled plans with friends during training, they had all asked his the same question. Draco would always have the same answer. He had worked bloody hard, and of course it was bloody worth it. When he had earned his stripes and was out helping people, it would all be worth it.

And then—inevitably, according to Pansy—the worst possible thing happened. He was partnered with Potter.

All trainees had undergone vigorous tests to determine their best fit in partners. Horribly, and unbelievably, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were, in the words of Kingsley, a match made in Auror heaven.

The insults and looks didn't stop when Draco finally became a fully-fledged Auror. On the contrary, Draco faced the worst of the insults and the dirtiest of dirty looks from the one person he had to entrust his life to: his partner.

And he did. Draco trusted Harry Potter with his life and had never once felt unsupported or at risk when with him out in the field. It was true about their 'compatible magic'; it seemed to become one when the two of them fought side-by-side. It wasn't only the magic though.

_It was them_.

Draco knew exactly where his partner was at all times when on a case, and instinctively knew exactly how to work with him. They fired spells in perfect harmony and they moved around each other as if in a choreographed dance.

He knew that it was the same for Potter. On more occasions than Draco could count, Potter had slid in to save him from a stray spell or projectile.

In the field, they were inseparable, unbeatable. They worked perfectly together. In the office, and especially outside of work, they hated the very breath that sustained the other.

Well, that was certainly how Potter seemed to think of Draco. Draco was incredibly annoyed with Potter on almost a daily basis, but he was tired of fighting all the time. He only wished that Potter could see past their teenage years.

 

The small pop of Grenville appearing in the living room had Draco jumping and spilling some of his whisky.

“Master Draco's clothes be finished, Master Draco. Grenville followed the plan and Master Draco should have everything Master Draco requires. Will Master Draco be wanting anything for breakfast before Master Draco leaves in the morning?”

Draco smiled at Grenville. He had tried hard to break him out of the 'Master Draco,' to no avail. He was much too old, and after serving his father for so long, much too well trained. Draco had given up and just humoured the old elf.

“Thanks, Grenville. Master Draco will make Master Draco's own breakfast. Have a nice weekend.”

With a deep bow, Grenville handed Draco the pamphlet and disappeared with a pop.

Nodding to himself, Draco finished off his whisky and headed to bed. He was going on the bloody course and it was going to be worth it. He was nervous, yes, and irritated that he _had_ to go, but another feeling crept up as he caught sight of the tag line under the truly horrid picture of a witch and a wizard happily skipping hand-in-hand through a field of lilacs: hope.

_From clashing wands to holding hands._

Not that he particularly wanted to go around holding Potter's hand, but the thought of not fighting day in, day out was extremely appealing. Maybe it _could_ help.

Resolving to try his very best, Draco drifted off to sleep. If this was going to fail—which it probably was—it wouldn't be his fault. It was all up to Potter.

~

** Day One. 9am-11am. Introductions and instructions. **

**__ **

_On arrival, guests will be met in the palatial gardens and taken to reception where they will be given a safe place to store their wands. A short tour of the house and grounds will follow, where guests can introduce themselves and have any questions answered before being shown to their deluxe rooms._

The small wave of nausea that Draco felt upon his arrival had absolutely nothing to do with his Apparation and everything to do with the sight that greeted him. He automatically held his hand out to steady Potter—the stupid git still couldn't Apparate without stumbling—and took a good look around.

 

Shrubbery and fauna of every description surrounded the small courtyard. Draco assumed it was supposed to look pretty and welcoming, but he found it anything but. The garish colours mingled with the harsh scents and Draco found his eyes watering. Small groups of people were stood—awkwardly, Draco was pleased to note—around, their cups clattering on saucers as hands were shaken and greetings offered.

 

Noticing the house, Draco snorted. Palatial, it was not. The grey-bricked building, while pretty and well-maintained, looked barely large enough to house twenty people. But, Draco thought, growing up in the manor and going to school at Hogwarts had probably given him unhealthy expectations.

 

A woman stepped forward to meet them, and if Draco had to pick just one word to describe her, well, he couldn't think of one. Overlarge pink glasses were perched on the end of her nose, clashing with the purple of her hair. Her robes appeared to have been made out of the old sofa that had been left in the house he'd bought, but Draco noticed the cut was tailored perfectly. The harsh set of her mouth didn't seem to fit with her warm, welcoming eyes.

 

Even though she was small in stature, the woman seemed to loom over him as he offered his hand in greeting. She was a mess of contradictions. Draco liked her already.

 

“Ah, Draco and Harry, yes?”

 

Draco gaped. He couldn't help it. It had been a long time since someone he hadn't known his whole life had called him by his given name, and with a smile, too.

 

After shaking both of their hands, the woman gestured around her. “We've been waiting for you. I'm Glinda, the owner and brains behind the operation. Welcome to Holding Hands. Have a cup of tea; we'll be starting in a minute.”

 

A small house-elf popped up and forced cups into each of their hands. “Sirs be wanting milk and sugar?”

 

Another, even tinier, elf popped up with a tarnished milk jug and a precariously balanced sugar bowl at Draco's nod. Draco poured milk into each of their cups as Potter added the sugar, Glinda still standing suspiciously close by with a smile on her face.

 

“Excuse me if I'm out of line, but we don't get many, um...” She trailed off and wiggled her fingers back and forth between Draco and Potter. “Is 'partners' okay?”

 

Draco nodded and chanced a glance at Potter, thankful that he had the same confused look on his face.

 

“Ah, good. I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to offend. Now, follow me, please. We need to begin.” Turning on the spot, she raised her voice. “Everyone, please. We'll have plenty of time for chit-chat later. Let's get this party started!”

 

As everyone walked through the front doors and settled in the reception hall, Draco let his Auror side out and scoped out the others in the room. He had neither the time nor the inclination to learn names, so Draco relied on his old standby: his judgemental side.

 

Draco counted eight other people—not counting Glinda—and everybody seemed to be in couples, which was unexpected. Draco assumed there would be some groups at this type of retreat. Scrutinising each couple in turn, Draco tried to determine what had caused them to attend the course. Surely they couldn't all have dreadful, overreacting, unreasonable bosses.

 

Firstly, standing out like mermaids in a fish tank, were The Giant and The Mouse. He had to be nearly seven-foot tall, and she couldn't have been more than five. He wondered what business they were in. They looked well dressed and groomed, and he thought he might even recognise The Mouse from one of his mother's luncheons. Probably finance or banking, Draco thought.

 

Draco's breath was taken away by the next couple. He was easily a Ten. Thick, dark hair. Bright eyes and a body Draco wanted to do shots off. His gorgeousness was only made more apparent when viewed next to what could only be described as the One stood next to him. Now, Draco was more than aware that he wasn't an expert when it came to finding women attractive, but, Merlin, the poor woman had nothing going for her, looks-wise. Her hair was lank and greasy, she had pockmarks covering her forehead, and the nose. Gah. You could house bats in there.

 

They were obviously romantically involved, if the holding hands and small glances were any indication. And when One smiled at Ten, Draco could see how happy they were. He couldn't figure out what the hell they were doing at the retreat.

 

Moving on, Draco couldn't help but notice the next couple. They were the exact opposite of Ten and One. Beauty and The Bear, Draco thought immediately. She was stunning—gay, straight or alien could see that—and he was as hirsute as he'd seen a man. And that included Old Mr Goyle. Draco's first instinct was that The Bear was Beauty's bodyguard.

 

The last couple looked more unhappy than any of them to be there. He had a face like a smacked kneazle—or wanted to smack a kneazle—and she dressed as if she were a seventy year old Muggle woman instead of an at-most thirty year old witch.

 

By contrast, he and Potter looked almost normal.

 

Glinda held her hand up and coughed, getting their attention. “Are we all comfortable? I just have some small things to go through, and then we can get you settled into your rooms, and get on with holding hands!”

 

Draco almost smiled at her enthusiasm. He certainly would have done if he'd been an observer and not an unwilling participant.

 

“Firstly, and most importantly, if you could bring your wands to the counter and place them in this box. Rest assured, it will be locked up securely; no harm will come to them and they'll be returned on your departure.”

 

A groan came from all corners of the room. Draco obviously wasn't the only person that was unhappy about that little statement.

 

“After you have done that, please sign the guestbook, which will also ensure you get what you need from this weekend. That's it, that's it. Thank you.”

 

Glinda handed the box now full of wands to the tiny elf from earlier, and Draco felt a momentary spark of panic. He didn't feel complete without his wand, and hadn't been away from it since Potter had given it back to him after the war.

 

“Now, there are some small rules everyone needs to follow for this weekend to be a success. Remember, you are here because you have willingly asked for help.”

 

Draco and Potter looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Yeah, _right_.

 

“No one is to leave here from the moment the course officially starts until Monday, after you have completed the therapy. This is final, barring a medical emergency. You are all bound to follow the course as set out in your itinerary.”

 

Several sheets of parchment flew to each of them in turn. Draco didn't want to look.

 

“That's it. Not too bad, is it?” Glinda chuckled and everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. “Oops! I forgot the most important rule!”

 

Draco was pretty sure she'd forgotten no such thing. The bloody woman was grinning like a Cornish pixie.

 

“At all times when you're walking in the house or grounds,” Glinda continued, and Draco didn't know if he wanted to hear it or not, “unless told otherwise, every couple must be holding hands.”

 

Draco nearly fainted. What?

 

“What?” Potter said aloud. “Hold hands? With Malfoy?”

 

Draco couldn't agree more.

 

Glinda looked at them and her smile had faltered. “Yes, and—” She brightened, nodded to the tiny elf and her grin returned. “—new rule. Only first names allowed. No surnames; we're all friends now. Please, everyone try to get what you need from this course; you're paying enough for it!”

 

A small round of laughter bubbled from around the room, but Draco couldn't join in; his earlier hope was fading fast, and a quick look to Potter told him that he was feeling just as bad. Holding Hands Therapy. It _was_ a bloody _Teen Witch_ article.

 

“Now, any questions before the tour begins? No, good. Let's go!”

 

The tour was quite short, and extremely boring. Draco's earlier assumptions about the size of the main house were almost spot on. The ground floor held different sized therapy rooms, with a dining hall—already set out with tables for two—leading into more gardens through French doors.

 

Glinda then showed them all a small—magically heated, Draco was grateful to hear—pool that they were free to use when not in session. Luckily the holding hands rule was relaxed while swimming; Draco assumed he and Potter would be spending a lot of time doing just that. Next to the pool was a small building that Glinda told them held a 'relaxation room', which Draco took to mean candles and incense, but actually meant Muggle pool table and small bar; he couldn't have been happier.

 

Upstairs, their—thankfully en suite—bedrooms could be found, and Draco was mortified to see that he and Potter were expected to share. His horror only grew once he and Potter were ushered into their room. There was only one bed.

 

“There's only one bed,” Potter said, looking at Draco as if it were his fault.

 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious; I hadn't realised.”

 

Draco stopped himself before he said any more. It was too early to be falling back into their old bickering routine. A knock on the door helpfully stopped Potter as he opened his mouth, probably to insult Draco, he thought.

 

“Is everything to your liking?” Glinda asked with a smile.

 

“NO!” both of them shouted at the same time.

 

Glinda looked slightly taken aback at the vehement response and Draco felt strangely guilty for it. “What's the problem?” she asked.

 

“Sharing a room with Malfoy is one thing.”

 

“But sharing a bed with Potter is completely different!”

 

“I didn't realise your problems were so bad,” Glinda said, finishing with a small shake of her head. “I'll have Milly and Tilly replace the double with two singles; will that help?”

 

“That would be great.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“And I told you; new rule. Only first names. Once eleven o'clock chimes, you'll see. See you at lunch!” She turned towards the door, and Draco only just caught what she muttered under her breath as she left. “I can see why you need marriage counselling now.”

 

All traces of colour drained from Draco's face.  He wasn't entirely sure he'd heard properly. She couldn't have said marriage counselling. No, that was for, you know, married people. Draco spun slowly to face Potter. It didn't help; he was muttering 'marriage counselling' over and over again, as if trying to find a new meaning to it.

 

“Glinda!” Draco called out, running out of the door.

 

A clock chimed in the distance, but Draco ignored it as he caught up to Glinda, his partner by his side in a flash.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Did you say _marriage_ counselling? But we're not _married_.”

 

“Oh dear; I apologise.”

 

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He _had_ misheard.

 

“I'm too old school; _couple's_ counselling. I'm sorry if I offended you.”

 

“No, P-p-p-Harry—” Draco stopped abruptly. _Harry_? What the fuck?

 

“I told you; first names only. It's a new rule,” Glinda said brightly.

 

“What M-m-m-m-Draco—” He stopped and held his hand over his mouth.

 

Draco couldn't even think Harry's surname. It was Harry or nothing—or was it? “Git!” he shouted loudly. “Sorry,” he said, “just testing.”

 

“Harry and I are simply Auror partners. Nothing more, nothing less. There's been some misunderstanding and we'll just be going now, thank you. Sorry for wasting your time.”

 

“Oh, well this is surprising. This has never happened before. Because of the nature of the retreat, we make certain that guests are sure they want our help.”

 

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

 

“The forms you signed,” she said, as if it explained everything. “You're here until Monday; no one leaves unless it's an emergency, and even then...”

 

“But—”

 

Glinda stood up straight and adjusted her glasses. “You'll just have to make the best of it. Maybe it will be of help anyway. See you at lunch.”

 

Draco didn't say anything as he trudged back to their room. It was only once they were at the door that they realised that they were holding hands.

 

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Harry said quietly.

 

Draco couldn't agree more.

 

~

 

** Day One. 12-1pm. Lunch. **

****

_Guests will meet in the dining hall for a nutritious, hand-prepared lunch. Ample time will be given for asking any remaining questions before the afternoon's sessions._

**__ **

Draco was still in shock as he walked down to the dining hall for lunch. The house-elves had replaced their bed for singles, so that was something, but not nearly enough. They had, of course, tried to leave, but every time they'd reached the front gate, Glinda, a house-elf or a one of Glinda's assistants would be there to explain how they were stuck until Monday.

****

They had, of course, tried to ignore the pangs of hunger and hide out in their room, but again, a house-elf had turned up to remind them that, “Sirs be needed at lunch.”

****

They had, of course, tried to walk separately to the dining hall, but their hands would invariably reach out to take the other's. Alas, Draco found himself walking to lunch, hand-in-hand with Harry bloody P-Gitface.

****

Once at the dining hall, Draco regretted his earlier reluctance to attend, as he and Harry were now the last to arrive, all heads turning to face them as they entered. Draco wondered if Glinda had told them all of their predicament.

****

“Ah, Harry and Draco. You're late; having a little too much fun in your room?” Glinda—and Draco decided he didn't like her much anymore—winked at them, and their fellow guests laughed.

****

So, that would be a no on the sharing their problem, then. Draco, blushing profusely, simply sat down and set about pouring his and Harry's teas. Harry, also a little red-cheeked, simply ignored the titters and added some sandwiches from a passing tray to his and Draco's plates.

****

The rest of lunch was spent in silence, Draco and Harry keeping to themselves as the rest of the room asked questions and socialised. Draco simply ate his sandwich—roast beef; his favourite—and tried not to grimace at Harry's choice of egg salad.

****

~

****

Harry and Draco had an hour to spare between lunch and the group session, and instead of joining the other guests in the pool, they decided to go to their room and talk. Besides enabling them to avoid everybody else, it had the added bonus that they would be able to let each other go.

 

It wasn't a long talk, nor a particularly exciting one. Draco had said: Let's get through this as best we can, and Harry had agreed. They had no other choice, so what else could they do. The rest of the hour was spent peacefully reading. Despite all their differences, they had never had a problem being alone together. Actually, Draco realised, Harry only tended to insult him when there was somebody around to hear it.

****

** Day One. 2-4pm. Group Therapy Session **

****

_At this, our first session, we will gather together to discuss what we each would like to take away from the weekend. Feel free to make suggestions and ask questions._

“Welcome to your first session here at Holding Hands,” Glinda said once they were all seated in one of the larger rooms. “For the next couple of hours, we're just going to talk. There will be no gimmicks or tricks, just us as a group letting our feelings out. My colleagues, Shelley and Howard, will be sitting in on this session, as they'll be taking some of the groups and I'd like you to get to know them. Any questions before we begin?”

 

Draco contemplated speaking up, but thought better of it. He simply wanted to get through this; he didn't want these people to know his business and, most of all, the small glimmer of hope was still bubbling under the surface. Maybe this _could_ help. He could sense Harry about to speak up, so he quickly put his hand on his arm and shook his head.

 

“No?” Glinda cheerfully said. “Then who wants to start? Just a few words about why you think you're here, and what you're hoping to achieve. Don't worry about speaking freely; anything you say in this room cannot leave it.”

 

An awkward silence followed Glinda's words. Her smile didn't falter, she simply twiddled her thumbs on her lap.

 

“Um,” Beauty spoke up, her voice shaking slightly, “I guess I can start.”

 

Draco sat quietly as each couple in turn spoke to the group. He had no idea what he was going to say when it came to him and Harry, and he definitely didn't relish Harry speaking up. He'd have the room hating him before the session was out, and Draco was enjoying having people treat him like an actual person for a change.

 

So Draco listened. He heard about Bear and Beauty's worries over their starting a family. About Bear's insecurities and Beauty's 'ticking clock'.

 

He listened to Ten explaining how he wanted One to feel more secure in their relationship, and be safe in the knowledge that he loved her. In return, he listened as One asked Ten to stop obsessing over his looks and physique, and that he was perfect and didn't need improving.

 

The Mouse told them all how she hoped the weekend would help The Giant realise that she didn't care if he had two knuts to rub together, she just loved him. The Giant wanted to be sure that she wasn't just rebelling against her father.

 

Grumpy and Frumpy surprised Draco the most by tearfully explaining how they hadn't been getting along for quite a while, and that the weekend was a last ditch effort to save their marriage.

 

At the end of their heartbreaking talk, all faces turned to Harry and Draco, and Draco blanched.

 

“Um,” he began, “we are actually, um...”

 

“Here because we, too, have trouble getting along,” Harry said, with a nod to Grumpy and Frumpy.

 

“And we need to fix that, obviously.” Draco added, surprised at Harry's honesty. He was expecting Harry to blame him entirely, and was touched that he hadn't. Draco was also extremely grateful that they weren't required to hold hands during sessions, as his palms were sweating profusely.

 

A bell chimed suddenly, startling the group. “Ah, I apologise,” Glinda said with a glance at her pocket watch. “We will have to continue this tomorrow, during your private session. Thank you all for joining in today. I think we know what we have to do from here. Now, time for a tea break.”

 

~

 

** Day One. 5-6pm. Trust exercises. **

 

_What is love without trust? This session will be used to discover how much trust you have between you, and what we can do to help._

 

The trust exercises were one of the sessions that Draco had actually been looking forward to. He'd read about them before: Falling into your partner's arms? Guiding blindfolded partners through mazes? Blindfolded abseiling? Yes, yes, and not for all the Galleons in Gringotts. Not because of Harry—Draco simply wasn't a fan of going down the side of a cliff face with only a rope—no, he trusted Harry with his life, and they were going to show everybody exactly how it was done.

 

Draco should have known that trust exercises with Glinda would be a lot different.

 

There was no abseiling, thankfully, but there were also no other recognisable exercises he'd read about and that he was confident he and Harry would excel at. It was just the ten of them and Glinda. The only props Draco could see were some sheets of parchment, some Muggle pens and a bin.

 

“No,” Glinda answered kindly when Draco asked her about it. “This is tailored to ma-couple's counselling. It's quite different. I'm sure it will still be of help.”

 

Intrigued, Draco sat back to listen to her instructions.

 

“As Draco pointed out, there are perfectly valid trust-building exercises, but they are mainly for trusting somebody with your physical self. These,” she said, gesturing to the objects in front of her, “are to help trust someone with your heart.”

 

Bollocks. Maybe he and Harry wouldn't do quite as well as Draco had thought.

 

“Now, I want each of you to go off with your partner—out of earshot if you'd prefer—and write something about yourself that the other person doesn't know. It doesn't have to be a secret, but it has to be something important to you. You will then share it with your partner. Remember, nothing you share here can be repeated outside of these grounds. After we've finished, your partner will burn your secret in the bin and, therefore, promise to keep it forever.”

 

Excitement buzzed in the air as people grabbed parchment and pens and settled into their pairs. The group then fell silent as everybody thought about what they wanted to share.

 

“Who's going to go first?” Harry asked when they had taken seats as far away from the group as they could manage. “Toss a coin?”

 

Draco couldn't think of a better idea, so searched his pocket for coins. “Heads,” he called as he tossed the knut he'd found in the air.

 

And tails it was. Bugger.

 

Picking up the pen, he wrote the first thing that popped into his head.

 

_My favourite thing to do is shop._

Harry unfolded it and scoffed. “Tell me something I don't know! You wear a different pair of shoes every day of the week.”

_I'm single._

“Yes, and you live with that elf with the weird name. Next.”

_I like collecting Muggle children's toys._

“I've seen your bottom drawer, you know. Remind me to get you a Rubik's cube when we get back; you'd love it.”

On and on it went, with Draco getting more frustrated every time Harry knew about something he'd written. He really didn't want to say it, but when Harry told him exactly that he knew what ballet he'd watched the month before, he couldn't hold it in.

Draco jumped to his feet and shouted, “I'm gay!”

Everyone in the room stopped talking and looked in their direction. Oh, right. Besides Glinda, as far as the rest of the group knew, he and Harry were a couple.

“Um,” he said quickly, “I always told him I was bisexual.”

“Smooth,” Harry said as Draco sat back down. “And I already know. I have eyes, and I'm not _that_ oblivious.”

“Why don't you take a turn then? I bet I know as much about you.” Draco pushed the parchment towards Harry.

“Okay,” Harry said, already scribbling on the parchment. “There.”

He pushed the paper into Draco's hands. Draco couldn't help but notice the worried look on Harry's face, and unfolded it slowly.

_I'm gay, too._

Draco gasped aloud. His first thought was that Harry was taking the piss out of him, but he knew all of Harry's 'let's make fun of Draco' faces, and he wasn't using any of them.

Refolding the paper, Draco nodded to Harry and grabbed a piece of paper for himself; he had one more admission up his sleeve. He wanted to tell Harry as this was his only—and probably best—chance to do so, but Draco was still desperately worried that Harry would simply laugh in his face.

With a muttered 'Fuck it' Draco wrote it down.

_I don't want to fight with you anymore._

Draco couldn't look Harry in the eye after handing it to him, he kept his eyes trained on the floor and readied himself for whatever jibe Harry could come up with. Surprisingly, Harry didn't talk, instead Draco found a piece of paper pushed into his hand.

“Huh?” Draco said, finally looking at Harry.

At Harry's head bob, Draco unfolded the paper. On it was written two words that filled Draco's heart with hope and another feeling he couldn't quite put his finger on.

_Me too._

“If you've finished,” Glinda voice startled them, and they both turned to face her, “bring your parchment to the front so we can get to the fun part!”

Draco smiled at Harry and, for the first time, received one in return.

~

** Day One. 7-8pm. Dinner. **

**__ **

_Dinner is served in the dining room and a wide variety of freshly prepared meals will be available. This will be no ordinary dinner!_

**__ **

Draco liked food. Correction, Draco loved _good_ food. The small description of dinner on his itinerary intrigued him. He was very much looking forward to a decent meal. Draco loved Grenville, and his ability to organise a wardrobe better than anyone, but his cooking left a _lot_ to be desired.

****

It was safe to say that Draco had high hopes for dinner. He should have known not to expect too much.

****

The dining room was the same as it was at lunch, with the tables set for two, with only Glinda and her staff the exception. That didn't worry Draco, though. He was used to eating with Harry, and for all his bad habits, his table manners were impeccable.

****

No, the thing that Draco found disappointing was set up along the wall near the kitchen: a bloody buffet. Draco didn't think of himself as a snob—not a huge one anyway—but there was something he found extremely unsettling about buffets. The thought of so many people touching his food was the least of it. Germs, insects, airborne viruses. Eurgh.

****

“It's all right,” Harry said from beside him. “We're one of the first here. And it doesn't look like anyone has had the lasagne yet. Why don't you have that?”

****

Draco was taken aback by Harry's thoughtfulness. Had he been that obvious?

****

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, plating the lasagne for himself, and at Harry's nod, Harry as well.

****

Once they were seated, Draco wasn't sure of the etiquette. Nearly everyone was in the room—only Ten and One were missing—and he didn't want his food to get cold, but no one else was eating.

****

“Can we eat?” Not for the first time that day, Harry voiced Draco's concerns out loud.

****

As if she'd heard him, Glinda stood up and addressed the room. “Once you have chosen your meal, please wait to eat. Your food is under a KeepWarm spell, so don't worry about that. I have something to say before we tuck in, so please help yourself to drinks. Terry and June should be with us soon.”

****

Sure enough, before they'd finished pouring their juice—not a bottle of wine in sight, unfortunately—Ten and One had arrived and served themselves and Glinda was on her feet and talking to them again.

****

“I'm sure you are all desperately hungry, so I'll make this short.”

****

“Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” both Harry and Draco whispered at the same time before looking at each other and grinning.

****

“If you would please swap plates...”

****

What? Draco's grin slid off his face, his first thought was that he was glad that Harry had chosen the lasagne as well.

****

“What?” Harry said out loud. It was echoed around the room.

****

“Don't worry; you're still going to eat the food that you chose. You're just not feeding yourself.”

****

Oh, Merlin. Draco couldn't imagine any way where this would end well.

****

“Your cutlery is charmed, so you can only feed your partner. Think of it as a bit of fun! _Bon appetit_!”

****

Draco looked around the room, and saw that some other guests were seeing it as just that. There were small bouts of laughter coming from all tables. Draco was sure that Frumpy was a mother, if the way she opened her mouth every time she tried to feed Grumpy was any indication.

****

Harry's stomach grumbled loudly and Draco had to stifle a laugh as Harry desperately tried to eat something.

****

“Shall we get this over with?” Draco asked, grimacing as he picked up his—Harry's?—knife and fork.

****

It wasn't just bad; it was terrible. Draco knew his mouth was on the large side, so he was mystified as to how Harry consistently missed it. Draco tried to wipe his mouth between almost-mouthfuls, but he had to remember to feed Harry as well and Draco knew he probably had bolognese all over his face.

****

With a sudden pang of horror, Draco fashioned a bib of sorts from some napkins to save his new shirt. He looked like an idiot anyway, there was no need to ruin a perfectly good shirt in the process.

****

Harry was a nightmare to feed. The man simply could not stop laughing. Draco knew it as probably from nerves, but that didn't make it any easier. It was like trying to hit a moving target.

****

Once the main course was finished—and Draco had to laugh a little at the state of his fellow diners; poor Bear had more food in his beard than the man could have possibly eaten—the desserts came around, thankfully served up individually. Without even looking to Harry for confirmation, Draco grabbed the server.

****

“We'll have the profiteroles, thank you.”

****

At Harry's questioning look, Draco clarified. “There's no way I'm letting you feed me trifle.”

****

Harry started laughing and Draco popped a profiterole in his mouth to shut him up before giving up and joining in.

****

~

****

** Day One. 9pm. Retire for the night. **

****

_Guests are free to socialise in the Relaxation Room, take a walk in the grounds or go for a late-night swim. Use this time to reflect on the day's activities._

**__ **

“What do you want to do tonight?” Draco asked, flopping back onto his bed. “I don't want to sit in here all night.”

****

“I wouldn't mind going to the bar.”

****

“You mean the 'Relaxation Room'?” Draco asked, laughing. “Come on then.”

****

“Wait,” Harry said.

****

“I don't think we need to get changed to go down there, Harry. We already changed for dinner.”

****

“You mean, you did,” Harry pointed out, gesturing down at his clothes.

****

Huh, Harry was in the same jeans and t shirt he'd had on all day. And very nice it was, too. The t shirt really was a lovely fit, and the colour set off Harry's skin tone wonderfully. And the jeans...

****

“Oi!” Harry said, trying to cover himself as much as he could with his arms.

****

Maybe Draco had been staring for too long. “Sorry, just admiring your t shirt. I, um, like the colour.”

****

“Thanks, it's one of my favourites; I got it from this shop in— Not the point. It's not the clothes; it's the holding hands thing.”

****

“What about it? Do you think you can get us out of it?” Draco didn't know why his chest hurt when he said that, or why he felt happy when Harry shook his head.

****

“Nope. I did try though. If only I was as powerful as everybody seems to think I am.”

****

“You're more than powerful enough,” Draco blurted out without thinking. It was true; if anyone could see how powerful Harry was, it was the man who watched him using magic all day, every day.

****

“Um, yeah, thanks. Not so bad yourself,” Harry mumbled. “But hand holding. I want to practice.”

****

“Practice what?”

****

“Holding hands.”

****

“You want to practice holding hands?”

****

“Yes, no. Oh, it's stupid; forget it.”

****

Harry looked about ready to hide in the wardrobe, so Draco quickly spoke up. “No, no, I just wondered _why_?”

****

“We have to do it all the time and it's uncomfortable.”

****

“Well, yes...”

****

“I, um, you squeeze too hard!” As he spoke, Harry grabbed Draco's hand. “Like this.”

****

“Ow! I don't do it like that. I do it like this.”

****

“Ow! See; that hurts!”

****

They spent the next ten minutes taking turns in holding each other's hands, each trying to be the one whose fingers didn't get squeezed.

****

“How about this?” Draco finally said, slipping his fingers between Harry's.

****

“That feels ni—better, but I don't think it'll work. You're two feet taller than me; how about this?”

****

As Harry slid his hand into position, Draco smiled. “Perfect,” he said, before yawning loudly. “Sorry; I'm just going to close my eyes for a minute before we go down; it's been a long day.”

****

“Same here.” Harry yawned so wide his jaw cracked. “We can go out in a little bit.”

****

Neither of them made it to the bar, as they both fell asleep, hands still entwined.

****

~

****

** Day Two. 7-9am. Breakfast. **

****

_Help yourself to a nutritious—and delicious—start to the day. A lovely chance to reflect on the previous day's activities, and discuss plans for the day._

**__ **

Draco had never had a more awkward breakfast in his life, and that included the time his mother had popped in unexpectedly while he was _entertaining_ his last boyfriend. At least his mother had talked to him; the silence he was experiencing was killing him.

****

To say that Draco had been surprised to wake up curled around Harry was an understatement. Thankfully, they were fully dressed and on top of the covers, but that didn't actually help. Harry had woken up a few seconds after Draco, taken note of their body positions and ran to the bathroom. It had not only looked as if Draco had been cuddling him, but also watching him sleep. Just great.

****

Harry hadn't said a word since. Draco had tried explaining that he hadn't meant to cuddle him, and didn't know how they ended up like they had, but it was to no avail. Harry just ignored him, his cheeks still the same red they'd been since he'd woken up.

****

When they'd reached the dining room, Draco was overjoyed to see the other guests eating their own breakfasts. If anything could have made the morning worse, feeding Harry his cornflakes would have done it.

****

So, they ate in silence, their only interaction was Harry passing Draco his cup of tea. Draco couldn't help but feel disappointed. After the success of yesterday, he felt as if they'd taken twenty steps back.

****

“Good morning!” Glinda cheerfully announced as she entered the room. “I hope you all slept well.”

****

Draco couldn't help but nod. Despite the circumstances—and the consequences—he had slept better than he had in a long time. Maybe it was about time he found himself a boyfriend.

****

“This morning,” Glinda continued, “will be quite quiet. There's only the one session, then the rest of the morning is yours to spend as you please. Enjoy the rest of your breakfast.”

****

“Harry,” Draco said, pushing his plate away, “are we going to talk before therapy?”

****

Harry laughed awkwardly. “There's nothing to talk about. Sorry, I didn't mean to make it weird. It didn't mean anything. We were just tired; it had been a long day. Are you finished? We have the first appointment; I don't won't to be late.” He finished by standing up and holding his hand out for Draco.

****

Draco took it, unaware why Harry's words hurt.

****

~

****

** Day Two. 9-11.30am. Therapy sessions. **

****

_Each couple will meet with one of our trained counsellors to discuss your individual worries and concerns. This will take as long as you need, so bring all your baggage!_

Draco was relieved to see Glinda in the small room they were sent to for their session. Not that he particularly relished the idea of therapy, but he was even less enthused by the idea of talking to someone he didn't know.

 

“I know this is different for the two of you,” Glinda said after they'd taken their seats. “But I'm going to treat this as if you were here the same as any married couple. Is that okay?”

 

Draco shrugged. What did they have to lose?

 

“Nothing to lose,” Harry said and Draco, not for the first time, wondered about his Occlumency skills.

 

“Good, now, you're here because you can't seem to stop fighting, correct?” At their nod, she continued, “Do you know why you have this problem? When did it start?”

 

“We were in school together. I don't know if I need to go over what happened when we were in school.” Draco looked to Harry for the okay to continue—he knew how much he disliked talking about the war—and he saw that Harry was wearing his 'I don't know how to say this' face.

 

Before Draco could do anything else, Harry spoke. “Draco was the first—well, second, if you count Hagrid—wizard I spoke to properly. He was certainly the first person to tell me about wizarding culture. Can you believe I'd never heard about Quidditch?”

 

Draco was in shock. What the fuck? He was Harry's first contact? Why hadn't he known this before? He stopped his pondering as Harry hadn't finished and Draco was more than interested in what he had to say.

 

“Draco could have been my first ever friend...”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow in question, and Draco gave him a nod in return. He wasn't about to stop Harry now. And what the buggering fuck? Draco's mind was whirring. Harry hadn't had a single friend in his childhood. No wonder he was so loyal to his friends.

 

“...but circumstances got in the way. Draco did some...things. Our school years weren't...pleasant, but they did make us what we are today. I guess what I'm hoping to achieve this weekend is to discover that people can change.”

 

Draco didn't know what to say. His first thought was to jump to his feet and defend himself, but he was struck dumb. He'd never heard Harry talk so openly before. And to hear that Harry wanted things to change between them—it was great. Maybe the room had some sort of truthful spell on it.

 

“Do you have something to say, Draco?”

 

“Um, I don't know.” Draco's mind blanked. He had _too much_ he wanted to say.

 

“I think we'll leave it there,” Glinda said, and Draco wanted to scream in frustration.

 

“Are you sure?” Harry asked. “We seem to be making progress, and Draco hasn't had a chance to talk.”

 

“I don't think either of you want me to be there for that,” she said, smiling softly. “If you would like to come back later, I'll make myself available. I think you need to talk alone, first. Thank you for your honesty.”

 

Harry stood and automatically held his hand out. Draco took it and pulled Harry from the room.

 

“Not now,” Harry said before Draco could get a word in. “I just want to relax for a bit; can we talk later?”

 

Draco didn't understand, but he nodded anyway and gestured outside. “Swim?”

 

~

 

It wasn't long before Draco regretted ever suggesting going to the pool. The first problem Draco encountered was down to his lack of magic.

 

He hadn't—to his eternal surprise—missed using magic while he'd been at the retreat. He missed the comforting presence of his wand, but he hadn't needed to make that many changes in order to function without it.

 

But now, as he stood beside the pool with the sun beating down on his uncovered body, he felt a pang of panic. He was going to burn. Badly.

 

Due to handy sunscreen spells—and the fact that he had never been out of Britain—Draco had never had to suffer with sunburn. But with the mid-June sun unreasonably hot, and the lack of a wand, Draco thought he was about to.

 

Harry finally emerged from the little changing room, his body strangely glistening. “What's the matter?”

 

“My skin,” Draco said, as if it explained everything.

 

Harry nodded, so maybe it did. “I've got this,” he said, handing Draco a tube with a large number 50 on the side. “Hermione made me pack it when she looked to see what I needed to bring. I don't burn, but she started wittering on about getting ill and stuff. It was just easier to bring it.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“What is it? You haven't seen sunscreen before?” Harry slapped his face and laughed. “Of course; why would you?”

 

Draco didn't know if he'd just been insulted or not. It wasn't said unkindly, though, so Draco let it go.

 

“You cover your skin with this—”

 

“That explains the sheen,” Draco interrupted, gesturing to Harry's chest.

 

“Yes, so plaster yourself in this and you won't burn. Actually,” Harry blushed and turned his back to Draco, “could you please do my back? And then I'll do you.”

 

Which brought Draco a whole new set of problems he couldn't have envisioned facing. Sure, he'd seen Harry shirtless countless times before. He'd patched him up after injuries and even carried him before, but this was different. This wasn't work-related at all. It was just _them_.

 

Draco wasn't blind. He knew damn well how good-looking Harry was; he just hadn't _seen_ it before. Maybe it was the fact that Harry wasn't constantly insulting or sneering at him, Draco didn't know. He just knew that rubbing the lotion into Harry's back was giving him butterflies in his stomach.

 

Trying his best to ignore them, Draco finished Harry's back and turned for Harry to repay the favour. Harry started rubbing it into his shoulder, and Draco moaned. Mortified, Draco quickly shuddered.

 

“Cold,” he said, hoping Harry bought it.

 

He didn't fancy Harry, he told himself. It was just a natural reaction to being touched so intimately. An involuntary response, that's what it was.

 

~

 

** Day Two. 12-1pm. Lunch. **

****

_An informal lunch, served in the dining room. Feel free to take your lunch into the gardens and have a picnic!_

**__ **

Lunch was a quiet affair for Harry and Draco. They had decided against eating outside, with Draco pleading too much sun for one day. Even with the lotion—and the reapplication that Harry insisted upon after an hour—Draco could feel his skin was a little tight and his nose was red.

**__ **

Draco was hopeful that Harry would continue the talk from their morning session, but every time Draco tried to introduce the topic, Harry would switch it to something inconsequential, like Quidditch.

**__ **

As they ate their sandwiches—and what was it with Harry and eggs?—they chatted about the coming afternoon, and Draco didn't want to push it. He was hopeful that Harry would open up again in the morning session tomorrow.

**__ **

The afternoon was earmarked for 'Team Exercises' and Draco didn't want to get his hopes up. He really hoped it was couple versus couple, as he weirdly wanted to show everybody exactly how well he and Harry worked together.

**__ **

~

**__ **

** Day Two. 2-4pm. Team exercises. **

**__ **

_A bit of fun for the afternoon! Engage your creative and constructive minds, and unleash your competitive side._

Draco almost squealed in delight as he and Harry entered the allocated room after lunch. The room was set up much the same as the dining room, with tables for two dotted about the place, but with trays of brightly coloured plastic instead of cutlery.

 

“K'Nex!” he said happily, trying to pull Harry into the room. He found it impossible, however, as Harry was stood still in the doorway, gaping at him.

 

“K'Nex? How the bloody hell do you know what K'Nex is, but you've never heard about sunscreen?”

 

Draco definitely detected a hint of an insult in that, but he ignored it. “I found it on one of my trips to Toys R Us; it's a lot of fun.” Draco tugged on his hand again. “Come on; we're blocking the door.”

 

“Please, come in and pick a table.”

 

Draco recognised the man speaking from the dining room, but hadn't spoken to him before. He didn't know his name; Draco just thought of him as Baldy.

 

“Welcome,” the man said once everyone was seated. “I'm Barry, and I'll be leading this afternoon's session. In front of you is a Muggle building toy. The aim of this activity is simple: I want you to build a vehicle that will transport these—” Barry walked around the room, handing out eggs to each table. “—down that ramp and along the track.

 

“You have ninety minutes to figure out your best chance of winning. The only rule is that your egg has to be safely transported for as long as your vehicle is in motion. The pair that has the vehicle that goes the furthest—” Barry gestured to the measurements marked out on the floor. “—wins a little prize. Have fun, and remember: work together!”

 

“You know what to do with this stuff?” Harry asked Draco quietly.

 

Draco nodded. “When I got my first set, I built this big wheel thing. Of course, I had magic to stop it from falling over and to make it go around...”

 

“We'll be fine,” Harry promised him, picking up a plastic wheel.

 

“The prize is ours,” Draco said as they started building.

 

Their first attempt was pathetic. The wheels fell off as soon as Harry placed the egg on top, which caused the whole car to fall to pieces. For all his bravado, Draco had never actually built anything with wheels before, and Harry was simply useless.

 

“Give me a break,” Harry said, laughing. “I didn't have toys as a kid. I don't know what to do.”

 

Draco didn't want to make a big deal out of what Harry said because Harry seemed to be in a good mood, but he filed it away—seriously, what child didn't have toys?—to discuss at a later time and started over.

 

Their second attempt was slightly better, as in the wheels stayed on, but the egg rolled straight off its carrier and only Draco's quick reflexes stopped them from having to go to Barry and beg for another egg.

 

“Let's work it out logically,” Harry said, twirling a blue plastic rod around his fingers.

 

“Start with the box for the egg, and then fit the wheels around that?” Draco offered.

 

Harry and Draco worked diligently, making sure their egg was secure before building the rest of the car.

 

“Ta-da!” Harry said with a flourish once Draco clipped the last piece into place.

 

“Ta-da? What are you, five?”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry said, but Draco could see the smile he was carefully trying to hide. “Shall we test it out?”

 

Draco carefully picked the car up, turning to take it to the ramp. He stopped in shock at the sight in front of him. Only Giant and Mouse were quietly working together; tension covered the rest of the room like a blanket.

 

Bear was practically growling at Beauty as he forcibly rammed the plastic rods into connectors. Ten and One weren't even at the same table any more, each building a separate car and glaring at one another. Grumpy and Frumpy were working on the same car, but the language they were using on one another wasn't exactly romantic and caring.

 

Barry was rushing between the warring couples, trying his best to do his job and keep the peace. Draco didn't think much of his chances.

 

“Come on,” Harry said into his ear, “less eavesdropping and more prize-winning!”

 

Once the five cars—Ten and One had obviously decided on which car to use—were lined up, Draco didn't think much of his and Harry's chances. Their little car looked positively simple in comparison to the others. Grumpy and Frumpy had even fashioned a flag of sorts to put on top of theirs.

 

But appearances, as Draco had been repeatedly told, were deceptive. Beauty and Bear's elaborate vehicle lost a wheel halfway down the ramp. Giant and Mouse's enormous offering dropped their egg and was therefore disqualified. Ten and One's creation veered terribly to the right, crashing into the wall and causing another round of insults between the two. But Grumpy and Frumpy's car wasn't only well adorned, it was well-built. It flew down the ramp and drove straight for a good ten feet.

 

Draco and Harry placed their car at the top of the ramp, and with a whispered 'Good luck', let it go. It sailed down the course, egg securely on board, but it slowed quickly and Draco thought that Grumpy and Frumpy had it in the bag. Draco could hear Harry muttering, 'Come on, come on' under his breath and, sure enough, their car inched past Grumpy and Frumpy's to take first place.

 

Draco wasn't embarrassed in the slightest when he squealed and hugged Harry in celebration. Draco knew he'd treasure the tiny cup they received as their prize forever.

 

~

 

** Day Two. 5-6pm. Trust exercises. **

****

_A continuation of yesterday's session, learning more about the trust you have between you._

“Good afternoon,” Glinda said as Draco, Harry and the other guests entered the room. “I trust you all enjoyed a nice and productive day.”

 

A round of murmurs and whispered words rose up in the room. Draco guessed that the afternoon had done more harm than good for some people. He and Harry stayed silent, both still on a high from their win.

 

“In this session,” Glinda continued, ignoring the mutters, “we'll be carrying on from what we did yesterday. But instead of sharing secrets, I would like you to share your hopes and dreams for the future. Your deepest wishes, if you will.”

 

Everyone stopped talking amongst themselves, obviously thinking about the task set them.

 

Glinda walked around the room, handing out pieces of parchment and pens. “Again, once you have shared, you'll burn your partner's parchment, and reiterate that they can trust you implicitly. And please, feel free to share as much as you want.”

 

“I'll go first,” Harry said. “If you want. It's only fair.”

 

In answer, Draco simply handed him his pen. Harry stared at it.

 

“Everything all right?” Draco asked when five minutes passed and Harry still hadn't written anything.

 

“I'm just thinking. Give me another minute.”

 

Another couple of minutes passed. “Do you want me to go first?”

 

“No, no; I've got one.”

 

_I want to be Head Auror one day._

“Rather you than me,” Draco said with a grimace. “Although, that would make you my boss...”

“I promise to find you a decent replacement partner before I take up my post. Like Zach.”

Draco retched and threw his pen at Harry. “Piss off. We'd kill each other before the week was out. Well, I'd probably kill him first. Doesn't sound too bad, actually. When do we start?”

Harry threw the pen back. “Your turn.”

_I want to go on a date with Darren Winterbourne._

Harry scoffed. “The lead singer of the Flowering Prophets? Isn't he with that witch from Inferno?”

“I didn't know you were so up to date on music. Or the gossip columns. Anyway, Glinda said dreams; she didn't say they had to be attainable.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said, eagerly picking up a fresh sheet of parchment.

_I want to play for England._

“Haha, not even you could unseat Wilson; she's on fire at the moment. I've never seen a better Seeker.”

 

“Football, not Quidditch. And hey! I'm not bad. I beat you!”

 

“Was that a hint of a compliment? And yes, well done; you beat a schoolboy in a school team during a school match. I'm surprised Puddlemere aren't beating a path to your door.”

 

Harry looked quite offended; Draco couldn't stifle his laugh.

 

“As soon as we get out of here. You, me and a Snitch?”

 

Draco shook his hand. “You're on. Now it's my turn.”

 

Draco was trying to think of something funny to write when Glinda walked up to them.

 

“How are you getting on?” she asked, indicating the parchment littering the table.

 

“Good,” Harry said as Draco coughed and tried to hide the note about dating rock stars.

 

Glinda crouched beside their seats and leant in closer. “I know you might think this might be a laugh and pointless because you're not actually a couple. But, please, do try; I think it might be of benefit to both of you and your professional relationship.”

 

As she walked off, Draco looked into Harry's eyes. Maybe Glinda had a point. Picking up the pen, Draco wrote.

 

_I want you to stop hating me._

Harry looked aghast as he read. “I've never...I don't hate you. My turn,” he said quietly.

 

As Harry wrote, Glinda called everyone to the front, and Harry dropped the parchment and collected Draco's notes. Draco scooped up Harry's parchments from the table, noticing the one he'd just been writing.

 

_I want you_

“You didn't finish,” Draco said, but Harry was already at the bin. More than a little curious as to what Harry would have written, Draco picked up the rest of the parchment and joined his partner.

 

~

 

** Day Two. 7-8pm. Dinner. **

****

_Enjoy a lovely meal, served in our unique way!_

**__ **

Draco, knowing what to expect this time, was completely prepared for dinner. Harry had suggested a quick swim after the afternoon session, but Draco had declined and instead they settled for a quick walk around the grounds. He and Harry were going to be first to dinner, and that was the end of it. Draco didn't even change his clothes.

****

Draco made sure to tell Harry exactly what to choose for dinner as well. He wasn't having a bolognese beard for the second night in a row. Dry foods, in easy to feed, bite-size chunks. No sauce, no fiddly vegetables, no problems. Draco did agree to a small compromise. Harry could have the treacle tart, as long as he agreed to forgo the custard.

****

On arriving at the dining room, Draco realised that he and Harry weren't the only ones with the same plan. Ten and One were already waiting at the doors, and the rest of the guests weren't far behind. When the dinner chime sounded, the doors opened and ten hungry people ran straight for the chips.

****

Draco and Harry, being the fully trained Aurors that they were, emerged from the scrum first, plates stacked with fat baked sausages and thick cut chips.

****

Taking their seats, they swapped plates, seasoned the food in front of them—Draco sprinkling Harry's chips with vinegar, although he couldn't help grimacing as he did so—and they were feeding each other before everybody else had sat down.

****

They were halfway through their plates before Draco remembered Harry's unfinished note.

****

“Harry,” Draco said, putting the fork down, “I saw the last wish you wrote...”

****

“Oh, I, um—”

****

“What were you going to write? You don't have to tell me, of course. I was just curious.”

****

Harry blushed, and Draco was sure he saw a flash of relief cross his face. “Um, I was going to say, 'I want you...to know that I don't hate you'.”

****

Draco smiled. “I do, now. Thanks.”

****

Harry nodded and they finished the rest of their meal in comfortable silence, until Draco had to remind Harry to hold off on the custard. It was quite quiet all around the dining room, the silence only being broken by Frumpy randomly making 'choo-choo' noises as she fed her husband.

****

~

****

** Day Two. 9pm. Retire for the night. **

****

_Why not socialise with your fellow guests and challenge them to one of the many games in the Relaxation Room. Of, if you're feeling romantic, a walk in the grounds might be a better way to spend your evening._

Both Harry and Draco decided that they had worked bloody hard while they'd been at the retreat and, as such, deserved a good, hard, drink. Draco even managed to get Harry to change into a shirt before they ventured down to the bar. Draco was slightly apprehensive about going to socialise, as they hadn't met them the night before, but he didn't want to spend another night with only his books for company, and he really did fancy a whisky.

 

Draco fully expected to walk into the bar to drunken laughter and games. He did not expect to see people sitting around, drinking juice and playing cards.

 

“We've found that alcohol,” Glinda said when Draco asked her for a whisky, “is counter-productive to the work we do here. All alcohol is forbidden at Holding Hands. We do have a wide selection of fruit juices,” she added with a smile. “What would you like?”

 

Draco was mortified. No alcohol? What kind of fresh hell was this?

 

“We're good, thanks,” Harry said, pulling Draco away from the 'bar'.

 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked once they were out of the room. “I'm thirsty. I spotted pomegranate.”

 

“I've got something to show you.” Harry took Draco's hand and pulled him back to their room.

 

As soon as they'd closed the door behind them, Harry dropped Draco's hand and started rummaging through his bags.

 

“Ta-da!” He happily brandished a bottle of Ogden's. “Knew it would come in handy. Hermione made me pack sunscreen; Ron made me bring this.”

 

“Glinda would be horrified.” Draco grabbed two plastic beakers off the sideboard. “But I do like being counter-productive.”

 

As they drank their way through their illicit whisky, they chatted about inane topics, Draco fully aware that they hadn't actually talked to each other properly outside of their sessions. Draco laughed at Harry's insistence that the Cannons were finally on the up, and Harry made fun of Draco's toy collection. They stuck clearly to safe subjects, but Draco was just happy they were talking.

 

“Do you think Kingsley knew about this,” Harry said, sitting next to Draco on his bed and gesturing around the room, “when he sent us here?”

 

Draco hadn't thought about it. He had been so sure that it was a mistake, pure and simple. The idea that they'd been sent to marriage counselling on purpose hadn't even crossed his mind. Well, _fuck_. “No...” he said, his mind whirring, “he wouldn't.”

 

But, yes, Draco thought, he fucking would.

 

“That bastard.”

 

“It's why I didn't bother bitching about it when we found out,” Harry said. “He's a sneaky bastard and he'd only be mad if we left. Not that we could have, but you know. What about you? Why didn't you kick off?”

 

“It's simple; I love my job. I didn't want to risk Kingsley following through with his threat and kick me—us off the force.”

 

“We do make a great team. Why did you enlist? For me, it was the only job I ever wanted to do.”

 

Apparently, the Ogden's was working its magic. Encouraged by Harry's honesty, Draco thought carefully about his answer.

 

“It was different for me. I always thought I'd just follow my father into the family business, but then _all that_ happened, and I decided I didn't want to be like him; I didn't want to be _him._ I wanted to do something _good._ I wanted to help, and I thought being an Auror was the best way to do that. I wanted to show the world that I wasn't evil.”

 

Draco thought he must be a bit more tipsy than he thought. He _never_ talked about his father.

 

“I don't think you're evil,” Harry said, his speech slurring a little. “Evil people don't play with children's toys. Well, maybe when they were children. I don't know. I think I'm drunk.”

 

“Me too.” Draco had a sudden thought, and not knowing when he would get the chance again, rolled with it. “New question: when did you come out? And why wasn't it plastered all over the Prophet?”

 

Harry laughed. “After the war and all that stuff was over, everyone—Ron, Hermione, all his family—assumed that I'd marry Ginny and have little red-headed babies. Well, everyone but Ginny did. She was happily off with Neville and didn't want any babies. And I didn't care. I expected to be upset, but I wasn't.”

 

Draco nodded encouragingly, and topped up their glasses from the nearly empty bottle.

 

“I went to some Muggle clubs to blow off some steam—”

 

“Away from prying eyes,” Draco said knowingly. He himself had hidden in the Muggle would after the war. It was when he'd started collecting his toys.

 

“Yes, the bloody reporters were everywhere; I just wanted to be young for a bit, you know?”

 

Draco did know. The therapist his mother had made him visit had told him that his sudden penchant for brightly coloured plastic toys was due to longing for a childhood or something along those lines.

 

“Anyway, I was in this nightclub in London, and found myself attracted to this man. Tall, blond, absolutely gorgeous. Needless to say, he taught me a thing or two, and I didn't look at another woman. And as for coming out, I haven't. Not officially; my friends know, but they're sworn to secrecy. So that's my story,” he said, downing his drink. “What's yours?”

 

“I've always known. It was a real problem for my parents, Father in particular. He wanted me to marry some pure-blooded witch that he would pick for me, have an heir and keep my _dirty little secret_ to myself.”

 

Harry harrumphed.

 

“I know. But then he handily got himself sent to prison, and my mother is just glad we made it through the war alive, so she is perfectly happy for me to live my life as I want to. It means no more Malfoys, but I'm not sure she cares.”

 

“So,” Harry said, pouring the last of the whisky into their glasses, “have you got a boyfriend who is going to be pissed off that you've been to marriage counselling with another man?”

 

Draco snorted. “I wish. Nope, haven't had a boyfriend since Kurt. Lovely man, but he couldn't get past this thing—” Draco pushed his sleeve up to uncover the mark on his forearm. “—so he ended things about four months ago. My mother keeps insisting on introducing me to random men she's met on her travels. I think she just doesn't want me to be lonely. What about you? Any Muggles hidden away in Chez de Harry?”

 

Great, Draco thought, he was talking crap French; he must be drunk.

 

“Nope. No more Muggles; I'm always petrified of accidentally telling them about us. I've been out with a couple of wizards; friends of friends who I could trust to keep quiet. But I've discovered that people don't want plain old Harry. They want this all-powerful wizard that doesn't actually exist.”

 

Draco patted Harry's hand in, he hoped, a comforting manner.

 

“I do like someone, though. And I don't think he wants the Boy-Who-Lived. I think he could like _me_.”

 

“Who wouldn't?” Draco blurted without thinking. “I mean, you're great. When you're not shouting insults and stuff. I didn't like the Boy-Who-Lived. I like Harry.”

 

Fuck, why couldn't he stop talking? Draco needed to sleep, and soon.

 

“I like Draco, too,” Harry said before kissing Draco on the cheek and snuggling into his side.

 

Fuck it, Draco thought and drifted off to sleep.

 

~

 

** Day Three. 7-8pm. Breakfast. **

****

_Ensure that you start off your last full day at Holding Hands well, by enjoying one of our freshly made breakfasts._

 

The moment Draco woke up, he wished he hadn't. Yes, he'd slept all night, and well, but he felt as if he'd been kicked in the head by a hippogriff. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in during the night and died, and his right arm was numb. As he finally managed to open his eyes, Draco realised why.

 

He and Harry had fallen asleep together, again, and Harry was cuddled into his side. They _had_ to stop doing that. Harry snuggled a little closer and Draco had a vague recollection of something else. Had Harry _kissed him_ before they fell asleep?

 

Well, fuck.

 

Draco wriggled free of Harry's grasp and tried to get up without waking him. What he needed was to have a wash and find some medicine for his head. The last thing Draco needed was for Harry to wake up in his arms again.

 

Draco had no such luck. Harry stirred and groaned as he opened his eyes.

 

“Oh, fuck. Again?” Harry said as he tried to sit up. “Sorry, I must have drunk more than I thought.”

 

Draco didn't know why Harry's words hurt him so much, but his head hurt too much for him to care. “Don't worry about it. Gah. I need a headache potion. And a toothbrush.”

 

Harry finally managed to get off the bed and rifled through his bags again. Draco really hoped he didn't have any more whisky in there.

 

“Here you go,” Harry said, throwing a small phial to Draco. “You'll have to find your own toothbrush.

 

As they got ready to go down for breakfast, Harry seemed to be slightly embarrassed, but not as much as Draco expected. Draco wondered if Harry had forgotten the end of the night, or if he'd simply imagined the kiss.

 

There was something more pressing that concerned Draco: hiding their night's activities from Glinda. So, as much as Draco would have loved to have a massive full English, he and Harry quickly grabbed some tea and toast and escaped back to their room before Glinda could talk to them. Luckily, they had one of the last morning sessions, and Draco hoped they had plenty of time to fully recover.

 

~

 

** Day Three. 9-11.30am. Therapy sessions. **

****

_Another chance to air your problems with just the two of you and one of our trained therapists._

After a refreshing swim and another of Harry's headache potions, Draco felt less like death and more able to face the therapy session. However, the way that Glinda looked at the pair of them as they sat down with her, Draco suspected she knew exactly what they'd been up to the night before.

 

“Today, I'd like to continue our discussion of why the two of you can't get along. I think you'll both agree that since you've been here at Holding Hands, you haven't seemed to have argued much.”

 

Draco shrugged. It was true, but he just assumed it was because Harry was the only person he knew and vice-versa.

 

“Harry, you have been more vocal in our sessions, so I'd like Draco to talk today, if that's okay with the both of you.”

 

Harry nodded and Draco shrugged again, although he had absolutely no idea what she wanted him to say. Glinda smiled and Draco relaxed slightly.

 

“Now, Draco. I've heard Harry's account of your life before you became partners, is there anything else you'd like to add?”

 

“Um, no, I don't think.” Something niggled at the back of his mind, and he realised that he did have something he wanted to say. “Actually, I have something. Yesterday, Harry talked about hoping to find that people can change. I wanted to just say that I was only a child back then—”

 

“And I wasn't?”

 

“Harry, you can talk in a moment; I'd like Draco to finish what he was saying first. Go ahead, Draco.”

 

“ _We_ were only children. Of course I've changed since then. I just wish _we_ had.”

 

“What do you mean by that last bit?” Glinda asked, holding her hand up to stop Harry from talking.

 

“It's just that we're still sniping at each other like we were when we were kids. I've had enough.”

 

“So, do you think that is why you and Harry have had problems? That Harry still _sees_ you as a teenager?”

 

Oh, crap; that made perfect sense. All that anger Harry had thrown at him during training, and ever  since. What the fuck?

 

“Yes,” he finally said. “That makes sense. I never realised before; I just thought he hated me. I just get so tired of being treated like shit.”

 

“No!” Harry stood up. “Are you saying that none of it is your fault?”

 

“No, of course not!” Draco stood up to face him. “But it wasn't all me, either!”

 

“Harry, Draco, please sit down. There's no need to get angry. We're just talking.”

 

“Let's go back,” Glinda said after everyone had retaken their seats. “Draco, can you tell me why you disliked Harry when you first met?”

 

“I didn't,” he replied quietly as Harry scoffed.

 

“Can you explain?”

 

“I didn't dislike Harry when we first met. I even bloody asked him to be my friend. Remember?” he added in Harry's direction.

 

“Ha, you mean while you were insulting Ron?”

 

“I was a prat, but I was also eleven. It doesn't make me a bad person. Get over it. What was all that yesterday? You seemed like a decent human being for a second.”

 

“You see what I have to put up with?” Harry asked Glinda. “And yes, yesterday you weren't being a twat and blaming everything on me. I was trying, all right?”

 

“Oh, get over yourself,” Draco said before Glinda could speak. “This is what you always do. I'd be perfectly happy to just get on with you; I have tried to be your friend. But you have to go and start with the insults. It's getting fucking old.”

 

“This is brilliant!”

 

Both Harry and Draco stopped their ranting and looked at Glinda in surprise.

 

What the fuck? Brilliant? Draco didn't know what the hell she was watching.

 

“What?” Harry asked aloud.

 

“Please, listen to one another. Do you know what I've discovered in just two conversations with you?”

 

Neither Harry nor Draco spoke, both shaking their heads.

 

“Let me ask you this, and answer honestly, please. Harry, do you hate Draco?”

 

Harry shook his head. “No.”

 

“Draco, do you hate Harry?”

 

“Of course not,” Draco said without a beat.

 

“So, neither of you dislike the other. So, I think we need to find out what's _actually_ going on. There has to be something else. Harry, why do you feel you and Draco argue so much?”

 

“I've had enough of this,” Harry said, getting up and heading for the door.

 

“Harry, wait,” Glinda called as he went through the door.

 

She didn't look too concerned, though, and sure enough, Harry was back within seconds. Instead of sitting back down, Harry strode purposely over to Draco, took his hand—and not in the way they'd practised; Draco knew his hand was going to hurt later—and dragged him out of the door.

 

“What the fuck is going on?” Draco asked, pulling Harry to a stop. “And, ow!” he added, swapping their hands to a more comfortable position.

 

“I...oh, fuck it. I don't want to talk any more. I need a lie down before lunch.” Harry started walking again, and Draco just followed silently, wondering what the hell had just happened.

 

~

 

** Day Three. 12-1pm. Lunch. **

****

_The afternoon is going to be fully-packed, so make sure you fill up!_

****

Draco was sure that the lunch was delicious, but to him it tasted like cardboard. He had never been more angry at Harry in his life. Draco really thought they'd been getting on well, and he was finally finding out who the 'real' Harry was, but then Harry had to pull his usual tricks in their session with Glinda.

****

He stabbed at his lettuce and glared at Harry opposite him. Harry, for his part, simply sat there and ate his sandwiches without a sound. He hadn't spoken to Draco since they'd gone back to their room for Harry to take his nap. Draco had woken him when the lunch bell chimed, and Harry hadn't even looked at him before dragging him down to the dining room.

****

Throwing his fork down with a clang, Draco took Harry's hand and practically carried him out to the thankfully empty gardens.

****

“What's the matter?” Draco asked, leading the two of them to a bench to sit down.

****

“I just didn't want to talk about it anymore. Nothing else. Can you just leave me alone for a minute?”

****

Draco indicated their conjoined hands. Harry rolled his eyes. “Can you just let it go, please? I promise we'll talk more. Just not now.”

****

Draco nodded and they spent the remaining time until the afternoon's sessions sitting in silence. It was quite peaceful, actually, Draco thought, even though he still hated the bushes with a passion.

****

~

****

** Day Three. 2-4pm. Team exercise. **

****

_Bring your pirate side! Have a bit of fun and learn more about each other at the same time!_

Harry and Draco still weren't talking when it was time for them to meet the other guests in the lobby. Draco hoped they'd sort something out soon; they were due to go back home tomorrow, and he _really_ didn't want to be the one to tell Kingsley that things were actually _worse_ between them.

 

“This afternoon,” Glinda said, drawing everyone's attention, “we're going to have a bit of fun. I need you to split into two teams, if you will.”

 

As much as Draco and Harry were having problems, Draco pulled on Harry's hand to make him stay close; if there was going to be any sort of exercise, Draco knew he'd want Harry on his team.

 

“No, not like that,” Glinda said, as nobody moved away from their partners. “One partner in each of the teams. We're going on a treasure hunt!”

 

Still nobody made any movements, so Glinda set about splitting the group into two. Draco felt a pang of loss as Harry was surrounded by Ten and the Bear. Finding himself sandwiched between Frumpy and the Giant, Draco thought that maybe this wouldn't end too well.

 

Draco was right. Each group was handed a map and a list of items they had to locate. Draco, naturally, assigned himself as the team leader, shouting down the other's objections with a swift, 'Which one of you is a fully trained Auror, then?'  It worked every time.

 

They'd barely got halfway through the list when Draco finally snapped. His team was useless. One had the spatial awareness of a drunken teenager. Giant was so uncoordinated, Draco seriously worried that he was going to hurt himself or somebody else. Frumpy had the extremely annoying habit of screeching whenever they found something on the list, and once or twice, something that wasn't. Beauty seemed to think that everybody else was there to serve her; he could finally see where the Bear got his troubles from.

 

When Draco was on a mission—and that's what he saw their little treasure hunt as—he was used to Harry being there with him. Harry, with his perfectly honed skills. Harry, who flew through the air like a ballerina—not that he'd ever mention that to him—when in hand-to-hand combat. Harry, who helped Draco and knew exactly what Draco wanted. Harry, who didn't make stupid annoying noises that would make Draco want to strangle him.

 

Draco _missed_ Harry. And, Merlin, was he shocked when he realised it. Even with their little outburst in therapy, Draco missed him dreadfully. He wanted to laugh with Harry at his teammates' expense. He wanted to do the stupid treasure hunt—and win the bloody thing—with Harry. For fuck's sake, he wanted to hold Harry's hand.

 

Draco tried to tell himself that it was simply because they'd spent the last couple of days together non-stop, but he soon realised he was kidding himself.

 

When Harry's team came bounding up to them with their arms bulging with every item on their list—who knew that Grumpy was a professional tracker?—Draco couldn't bring himself to care. He just took Harry's hand as he congratulated him, fully aware as to why he felt so relieved to do so.

 

~

 

** Day Three. 5-6pm. Trust exercises. **

****

_Our last trust session promises to be a good one. Make sure to wear your softest clothes!_

The first thing Draco noticed when he went into the usual room they used for the trust exercises was the lack of parchment and pens. He couldn't see any props at all. There weren't even any tables, just pairs of chairs dotted around the room.

 

“This exercise is simple,” Glinda said, smiling. “I want you to talk to one another. But,” she added, “as you do, I want you to touch and caress you partner.”

 

A murmur rose up in the room, with people looking quite confused at her words.

 

“Not in a sexual manner,” Glinda said. “Let me show you; Barry, would you?”

 

Barry nodded and sat in the chair opposite her, their knees touching.

 

“I would like you to talk about whatever you want: Quidditch, the weather, what you want for dinner. Anything you want. But as you do—and no one will be eavesdropping; don't worry—I will call out a body part and you need to touch that part on your partner as you talk. Like this. Face.”

 

As she talked—about going to the zoo, of all things—Glinda and Barry held each other's faces softly. “Arms,” she called, as Barry started wittering on about the football.

 

Harry seemed quite interested in what he was saying. Draco was simply trying to keep his mind straight. The thought of spending an hour touching Harry and looking into his eyes—unavoidable seeing as how they were meant to sit—after his revelation earlier in the afternoon terrified him.

 

“If you feel like you have a serious problem with this, please come and see me and I can see about trying something else. The last thing I would want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

 

Draco was about to speak up, when Harry pulled him over to their 'usual' seats.

 

“We'll start with something you should all be used to by now: hands. Please,” Glinda said, walking around the room, “talk.”

 

Draco and Harry sat opposite one another, so close that Draco could see himself reflected in Harry's glasses. They held hands as they usually did, but Harry's thumbs rubbed across the top of Draco's in a maddeningly gentle way.

 

Draco tried his best to think of a topic to start off with, but all he really wanted to talk about was what had happened earlier in the day.

 

“They are some bloody awful bushes,” Harry suddenly said, jerking his head in the direction of the window to the garden. “And the smell...”

 

“I thought the same when we first got here. They really should get a new gardener.”

 

“Arms!” Glinda called from the other side of the room.

 

Draco slid his hands up Harry's forearms as Harry did the same. “Harry, about today...”

 

“You know, the weather is beautiful. Unseasonably warm, I think. Do you think it'll last?”

 

“Thanks, Granddad. Now, about this morning...”

 

“Are you planning on going to any Quidditch matches any time soon?”

 

“Nice try, but we exhausted the Quidditch talk last night. My view on the Cannons chances has not changed in one day. Now—”

 

“Keep caressing,” Glinda called across the room. “Really _feel_ what your partner is trying to say. Not with their words, but with their body.”

 

“Kingsley!” Harry almost shouted. “He's a git,” he continued in a quieter voice.

 

“Yes, yes, he's a git and a bastard. I'd pay good money to see him go through this, though.”

 

“It would be hilarious. How do you—”

 

“Harry, please.”

 

“Okay, okay. Did you know that Ginny fancied you in school?”

 

“Harry... Wait, what? She hated me. I remember: she actually used the words, 'I hate you.'"

 

“Yes, well. Doesn't mean she didn't notice you were hot.”

 

“So you think I'm hot?”

 

“Shut up and stop fishing for compliments. You know you're good looking.”

 

“Face!”

 

“Harry?” Draco didn't know why he was saying it, and he couldn't stop himself from saying it. “Do you remember kissing me before we fell asleep last night?”

 

“No. Yes. I was drunk?” It was a question, not a statement.

 

Draco thought he'd try a different tact. “Harry,” he said as he ran his thumbs over Harry's cheekbones and down to his stubbly chin, “why did you run out of therapy this morning?”

 

“You were being a git.”

 

Draco grinned. “Not much of one. Anyway, I think you may have overreacted a little bit. What I was saying was hardly inflammatory. Personally, I thought it was quite tame.”

 

“Okay. I know—well, I've realised—that it wasn't just you. The fighting, I mean. I know it was both of us.”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well,” Harry amended, “mainly me. I'm just figuring some stuff out.”

 

“Like what?” Draco asked, genuinely curious about the answer.

 

“You, mainly.”

 

Draco coughed. “What about me? You've known me for fifteen years. You know everything about me.”

 

“I didn't.”

 

“Knees!” Glinda called, making them both jump.

 

“Didn't what?” Draco asked, getting more confused by the second.

 

“I didn't know you. I knew Draco M-full name. Now I'm getting to know Draco.”

 

“And you don't like Draco full name? He is me, you know.”

 

“No. One is how people see you, and the other is _you_.”

 

“Who are we talking about here? Me or you?”

 

Harry sighed, squeezing Draco's knee. “I don't know. Both?”

 

“Ah, I see,” Draco said although he most certainly did not.

 

“Well, for example,” Harry said. “You prefer plain old Harry to Harry the All Powerful, right? It's like that.”

 

Something clicked in Draco's brain, a drunken admission breaking through the whisky fuelled haze.

 

“Harry—”

 

“Thighs!”

 

“Harry,” Draco said again, scooting closer to Harry to best follow Glinda's instructions. “The man you were talking about last night. The one you like, who you think likes plain, old Harry.” Draco gulped and looked straight into Harry's eyes. “Is he me?”

 

Harry's hand tightened their grip on Draco's thighs, but he stayed silent. Draco couldn't breathe; he wanted to take it back, worried that he'd messed everything up.

 

“Fuck it,” Harry said quietly, shaking his head. “Honestly?”

 

Draco nodded.

 

“Yes. He is you.”

 

“For how long?”

 

“I don't know. Since training, I suppose. You're not freaked out?”

 

“Of course not,” Draco said, smiling. “I'd be pretty offended if you didn't fancy me, to be honest.”

 

“What?”

 

“You like men, I am a man, ergo, I'm quite flattered that you like me. But, I have one question, and don't get mad: you have been an absolute twat to me since the day we started training.”

 

“That's not a question.”

 

“Harry...”

 

“Okay. Here's the thing: I didn't want to fall for Draco full name. I didn't _like_ him, so I was pretty pissed off that I found him so damn attractive.”

 

“Again, he is me. I thought we went through this. And thanks, I think.”

 

“No, you don't get it. I don't know how to explain it.”

 

“Backs!” Glinda cried. Harry and Draco ignored her.

 

“Can you try?”

 

“What's the point? It's not like it would help with anything. I like you. There, I said it. You don't like me, so can we just drop it?”

 

“I never said that,” Draco said quickly. “I never said that I didn't like you.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“Well, to be honest, since about two hours ago. Before then, obviously, but I only realised after the treasure hunt that I missed you. After an hour or so of being apart, I missed you. I realised all that we have together and what I would miss out on if you weren't there. Also, the whole sunscreen thing was quite hot.”

 

“Oh.” Harry blushed.

 

“I always found you attractive; I'm not blind. It's just this afternoon, I realised that I wanted to be with you. And not just in a sexual way. But you're supposed to be talking. What was with all the animosity?”

 

“Okay, everyone,” Glinda said loudly, clapping her hands. Draco wanted to smack her. “That was a brilliant session. You all seemed to get a lot from it. Now go and enjoy the last of the sun before dinner.”

 

“Do you want to go to the room or for a walk?” Draco said as everyone started to leave. “We are _not_ finished here.”

 

“Let's go to the room. Less chance of running into other people and, Merlin willing, Ron stashed another bottle in my bag.”

 

“Not a chance,” Draco said, dragging Harry towards the stairs.

 

~

 

“So, what do you want to know?” Harry asked once they were settled into their usual positions on Draco's bed, thankfully whisky-free.

 

“Why don't you want to like me?”

 

“Truthfully, I was scared. I hadn't seen you for months after the war, and then there you were: bright eyed and eager on the first day of training. You looked fantastic, but you were still you. I was supposed to hate you.”

 

“Says who?”

 

“Everyone. No one. It was just what I thought I had to do. And when we were partnered together and my feelings for you didn't go away...”

 

Draco took Harry's hand and copied Harry's earlier movements, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles. It seemed to calm Harry down. “Go on.”

 

“It was a defence mechanism. We become closer as a partnership and I learned to trust you to have my back, but I still didn't _know_ you and I was scared.”

 

“Scared? Of me?”

 

“No, not really. Well, yes, a little. Of what you might do to me.”

 

“I'd never...you really thought I'd hurt you? We're partners. I could never...”

 

Harry shook his head. “I know. I'm not explaining it properly. I know you wouldn't hurt me. Not physically...”

 

Oh, _oh_. “You thought I'd break your heart.”

 

“All I knew about you was what I'd seen in school, and I'd built you up to be this bad man that ran from man to man. I didn't want to put myself in the situation where you _could_ break my heart. So, instead...”

 

“You acted like a twat and treated me like shit.”

 

“Exactly. I thought that if I did that, any feelings for you would just _go away_. And, in my defence, you treated me like a twat right back.”

 

“Of course I did! I tried everything to be an Auror. I did all the training; I passed all the tests. I threw my life into getting into the force. And then you were there, throwing insults at me and belittling me at every opportunity. What was I supposed to do?”

 

“So, when I stopped throwing insults at you...”

 

“I realised that you were kind of a decent person, yes.”

 

Harry smiled and Draco couldn't help but grin as well.

 

“Where do we go from here?” Harry asked.

 

“Dinner, I guess,” Draco said as the bell chimed. Standing up, he held Harry's hand more securely. “We'll see. Coming?”

 

~

 

** Day Three. 7-late. Dinner and celebration. **

****

_To celebrate your successes over the last couple of days, tonight's dinner will be different. Forget the rules and party!_

As soon as Draco walked into the dining room, he noticed that dinner would be different. Instead of tables set for two, there was a long table, set with silverware and glasses, for everyone. The major change was evident when Draco read the names on the little place cards in front of each seat.

 

No couple was sitting next to each other. He was placed between Mouse and Frumpy, and Harry was between One and Beauty, all the way at the other end of the table. Looking down at his cutlery, Draco had a strange thought. He didn't _want_ to feed himself. Shaking his head to dismiss that, quite frankly, scary, thought, Draco simply said hello to his neighbours and looked at Glinda when she clinked her glass.

 

“As you can see, tonight is going to be a little different. Tonight isn't just about you and your partner, it's for everyone to talk about their experience over the past couple of days. I want you to talk to your fellow guests and see what has helped and even rant about parts you didn't appreciate. Most of all, though, tonight is about fun.”

 

Draco couldn't help but grin as waiters brought out bottles of wine along with the platters of food. If he was going to have to talk to people other than Harry, he was glad he wouldn't have to do it sober.

 

“You have _all_ worked hard this weekend, and I would like to say thank you for that. Please, enjoy yourselves; you deserve it!”

 

It reminded Draco of the feasts they'd had on special occasions in school. On a much smaller scale, obviously, but the atmosphere, the joviality and, most of all, the delicious platters of food made him look to Harry and smile, receiving a wide grin in return.

 

Draco had planned on talking to Harry more about what was going on with them during dinner, but he found himself having a great time anyway. He had a lovely conversation with Frumpy, where he heard, happily, that she and Grumpy had really seemed to fix their problems. Mouse was similarly sure that she and Giant had a happy future, and were even thinking about coming back to Holding Hands again. He hadn't even needed the wine; he was having quite a pleasant time.

 

When asked about his own experiences, Draco didn't know what to say. He didn't know himself where he and Harry were heading, and he definitely didn't want to share any of it with strangers. Looking at Harry, Draco simply smiled and told the women the truth: it had helped immensely.

 

Once the food was cleared away, Glinda clapped her hands and a small band of house-elves appeared to rearrange the furniture. The large table was taken away, and smaller groups of tables were dotted around the edge of what appeared to be some sort of dance floor. Draco was horrified. Dancing? Unless it was in a steamy club filled with sweaty men, Draco didn't want to know.

 

“Who's up for some party dances to break the ice?” Glinda called as music started playing, from where, Draco didn't know.

 

Draco really, _really_ wanted to grab Harry and go back to their room, but for some unknown reason, his face lit up at Glinda's words and Draco expected him to be jumping up and down in excitement within seconds. Taking Harry's hand, Draco tried to reason with him.

 

“Why don't we go and finish our _talk_?” he said into Harry's ear.

 

“In a minute,” Harry said. “I can't resist the Music Man.”

 

Harry looked so happy while he and his fellow dancers pretended to spray deodorant and run around with their arms in the air being 'Superman', Draco couldn't help joining in. He blamed the wine, but deep down he wanted to be as free as the rest of them.

 

Draco had never heard of the 'party dances' before, and he kicked himself for it. He had never had so much fun. He felt like a child, pretending to be a chicken and doing something called 'The Macarena'. Harry had explained that they were cheesy Muggle dances, usually done at celebrations, to much hilarity.

 

The music stopped and Glinda stepped into the middle of the dance floor. “This has been fun, and I'd like to thank you all, but I have to retire for the night. Please, continue to enjoy yourselves as late as you want. The waiters—” She gestured to the suited men and women standing by the kitchen. “—will be more than happy to serve you. Good night!”

 

Draco couldn't believe what a good night he'd had. He'd enjoyed a lovely meal, good conversation and he'd danced stupid dances with Harry until his feet felt like they were going to fall off. He'd had enough, though, and was feeling quite tired. He caught hold of Harry's hand as he moved towards the waiters and pulled him back.

 

“Do you mind if I went? I'm very tired, and could do with some sleep. I still haven't packed.”

 

“Of course; let's go,” Harry said at once, waving to their fellow guests as he took Draco's hand.

 

~

 

** Day Three. Whenever you want. Retire for the night. **

****

_Spend the night partying with your fellow guests, or make the most of your last night at Holding Hands. Your choice!_

Draco was yawning widely when they reached the room, and he looked at his empty suitcase with a frown. He didn't want to be rushing in the morning, but he also didn't want to pack; he just wanted to sleep.

 

“I know you're tired, but can we talk for a minute?” Harry asked, sitting down on Draco's bed and patting the space beside him.

 

Draco nodded and sat down, automatically taking Harry's hand. “Sure. Of course.”

 

“I'm just going to say it and hope I don't sound like an idiot.”

 

“Okay...”

 

“You like me, yes?”

 

Draco nodded.

 

“And I like you.”

 

Draco nodded again.

 

“We like each other.”

 

“I think we've established that.”

 

“Yes, okay. Here we go.” Harry turned Draco to face him straight on. “Draco, can I kiss you?”

 

Draco laughed. “I thought you'd never ask. Idiot.”

 

The kiss was like nothing Draco had felt before. Yes, he'd kissed quite a few people, and some more passionately than others, but the kiss with Harry was different. It was probably due to their compatible magic or something, but Draco felt sparks. And not metaphorical sparks, actual lights and electric sparks. It was magical.

 

“Wow,” Harry said when they broke apart.

 

“Uh-huh.” Draco caught his breath. “Just think, if you didn't want to spend the night dancing like a chicken, we could have done this hours ago.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry said, pushing Draco onto his back and kissing him again.

 

They lay like that for seconds-minutes-hours—Draco couldn't tell exactly how long—kissing and touching and caressing.

 

“Draco,” Harry whispered into his ear, “can I sleep with you tonight?”

 

Draco baulked. He wasn't a virgin—far from it—but he wasn't expecting _that_. “Um, I wasn't expecting... I don't have...”

 

“It's okay,” Harry said, grinning.

 

“Are you telling me Hermione made you pack _lube_?”

 

“What? No! What are you on about? Oh! No, I meant _sleep_ with you. I mean, if you want to, I do have some—” Harry blushed and Draco coughed. “—but I did just mean sleep. I haven't slept as well as I have the last couple of nights for a very long time.”

 

“Me neither,” Draco said. “Of course. But, do you think we could get changed out of clothes for once? Grenville is going to have a nightmare getting the creases out as it is.”

 

Harry laughed and leapt off the bed, changing into his pyjamas in seconds. Draco moved at a much more sedate pace, but before long they were cuddled into bed, for once under the covers and well aware of what they were doing.

 

~

 

** Day Four. 8-9am. Breakfast. **

****

_We hope a lovely breakfast will let you leave here with a full stomach and a happy heart._

A loud knock on the door woke Draco up. Finding himself still cuddled into Harry's side, Draco carefully extracted himself and—making sure he was fully covered—went to see who it was.

 

“Good morning!” Glinda said, much too cheery for first thing in the morning. “I hope you're both well.”

 

“Morning,” Draco said, stifling a yawn and well aware that he hadn't brushed his teeth yet. “Have we missed breakfast?”

 

“No, don't worry. I just thought I'd come and see you before breakfast. I'm seeing everyone, don't worry. I have to give you something. Can I come in?”

 

Draco looked behind him, and noticed Harry still fast asleep, now cuddling a pillow instead of Draco.

 

“Can you give me a minute?” Leaving Glinda at the door, Draco went and shook Harry awake. “Glinda's here, and she wants to come in. Are you okay with that?”

 

“Huh, course,” Harry mumbled, sitting up in bed slightly. “Morning,” he said to Glinda, who had walked in at Harry's agreement.

 

“I want to say again that I'm glad that you two embraced this odd situation you found yourself in.”

 

“I'd like to thank you for this weekend,” Draco said.

 

Harry got out of bed to stand next to Draco. “Same here.”

 

Glinda smiled. “You're more than welcome. Here,” she said, reaching into her pocket, “you'll probably need these to pack.”

 

Draco was shocked, taking his wand with a nod of sincere gratitude. He'd forgotten how good it felt in his hand. “Thanks again.”

 

“Of course. See you at breakfast.” Before she walked out of the door, she turned and gestured towards Harry's perfectly made bed. “Only needed the one, after all.”

 

Draco blushed and didn't move until Glinda had shut the door behind her.

 

“Shit. You know she thinks...”

 

“Yep. But who cares?” Harry said, swishing his wand around happily.

 

~

 

Draco, not being hung over or embarrassed, actually had—and enjoyed—a full English breakfast for the first time since arriving at Holding Hands. He and Harry had happily played with their wands for a few minutes—Harry messing about and Draco packing—after Glinda had returned them, until they'd remembered the previous night and spent the remaining time till breakfast back in bed.

 

It was amazing. A few days earlier, Draco had been fighting—as usual—with Harry and worried about his stay at the retreat. And now he was sat opposite his...well, he didn't know _what_ Harry was, but he was sat opposite Harry, talking about their plans for the day while they ate breakfast after waking up together.

 

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, bringing Draco out of his happy thoughts. “I still have to pack before the last session. And then we can go home!”

 

 _Shit_. Home. Yes, Draco was looking forward to getting out of Holding Hands. He was sure that Grenville had missed him, and he couldn't wait to get back to work, but he and Harry still hadn't talked about what was happening between them. Draco didn't want it to go back to the way it was. He highly doubted it, but then, things had a habit of going wrong for him. Especially where Harry was concerned.

 

“Draco, Harry,” Glinda said, running over to them as they stood up to leave. “I'm free now, if you want to get your last session out of the way. You must be itching to leave!”

 

~

 

** Day Four. 8.30-11am. Therapy sessions. **

****

_Your final session! Talk for as long (or as short) as you want with one of our therapists. Sum up the weekend or plan for the future. Whatever you want to do, you can do it!_

“Firstly,” Glinda said as they walked into her room. “I see that your partnership might have progressed?”

 

Huh? Were they that obvious?

 

“You're holding hands,” Glinda said.

 

“Well, yes,” Draco said. “We have to...”

 

“Did you not hear the announcement at breakfast?”

 

Draco shook his head. Harry just looked confused.

 

“Oh, it must have been made before you came down. Oops! Anyway, the rules have all been relaxed as of this morning. I've never had a weekend go so well before. Every couple seems to have worked their problems out, so it seemed pointless to continue with them.”

 

Draco loosened his hold on Harry's hand; it felt weird.

 

“Is there anything you'd like to discuss before you leave?”

 

“No,” Harry said.

 

Draco shifted in his seat. He wanted to talk to Harry, but he thought that should probably be a conversation they should have in private. “No,” he said.

 

“I have a question, if that's okay,” Glinda said. “Have you thought how you're going to carry on when you leave Holding Hands?”

 

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, knowing full well what she meant. He still would prefer to talk about it in private, so he kept quiet.

 

“Do you think you'll go back to the way you were before? With the fighting? Or can you work together?”

 

“No,” Harry said before he laughed. “Well, it is us, so there will probably be some arguing.”

 

Glinda sighed audibly.

 

“But I'm sure the making up will make it worth it,” Harry added, putting his arm around Draco.

 

Draco laughed as relief ran through him. Regardless of his and Harry's actions and words of the past three days, he really was worried that Harry was going to change back as soon as they left.

 

“Okay, you two,” Glinda said, rolling her eyes, “enjoy the rest of your day. Go on, get out of my office.”

 

A niggle of dejá vu hit Draco, but as Harry took his hand and entwined their fingers together, he forgot all about it.

 

“Come on,” Harry said. “Let's go home.”

 

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